


Five Times Edward Meechum Got Down On His Knees For Frank’s Pleasure and One Time He Didn’t

by JayEz



Category: House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Season/Series 03, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Fanart, Hand Jobs, Light Angst, Meechum Lives, Multi, OT3, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Threesome - F/M/M, What Have I Done, and now featuring amazing, though there is plot as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-02-28 09:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2727134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JayEz/pseuds/JayEz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what the title says. This is shameless smut with a surprising amount of plot thrown in (in later parts).</p><p> </p><p>  <em>[EDIT 03-2016: part VI could actually be seen as a season 4 fix-it, even though it was written two seasons earlier.]</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea why I’m suddenly writing HoC fanfic but this has been going through my head ever since I’ve seen the Season 2 finale a few days ago so I decided to simply write the smut that my muse seems to want to put into words so badly. 
> 
> Also, this is my first 5+1 type fic :) And the fandom has too few fics, btw. So I’m killing two birds with one shove in front of a train, really.
> 
> Unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine.

**1.**

Later, Edward will blame the alcohol coursing through his system for how bold he acted. In the past he’s not exactly been adventurous when it comes to sex – a girlfriend in High School, a lover in the military, a few minor more casual relationships that didn’t go anywhere. 

And yes, he has thought about it, between shifts when he was alone in his shabby apartment, thought about the curve of Mrs. Underwood’s hips and Mr. Underwood’s broad hands, wondering what they would feel like twisted in his hair while Edward is down on his knees with his lips wrapped around Frank’s erection. 

Without the alcohol to smooth the way, though, he would’ve never moved his hand.

Kissing Frank is similar to being in his presence and watching him work – compelling, thrilling and leaving you wanting more. Edward’s breath is ragged when they part, the way Frank’s eyes are dark with lust sending another spark of arousal through Edward’s body. 

“Let’s take this upstairs,” suggests Claire and takes Edward’s hand, guiding him up and into the bedroom. Once inside she presses close, shifting her hips in a way that causes the most exquisite friction. 

Edward swallows. 

“I want you to start with Francis,” she says, then looks past him towards the door. When Edward follows her line of sight he glimpses Frank leaning against the doorframe. 

An entire conversations seems to pass between husband and wife, something Edward has seen before and it never fails to amaze him how two people can be so in tune with each other that the need for words completely vanishes. 

Frank crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed before angling a gaze at Edward that is almost challenging. He meets Claire’s eyes – a small nod and she slinks away, making herself comfortable in a chair facing the bed. 

Edward approaches Frank slowly. The other man is leaning back, resting on his elbows and spreading his legs wide enough to draw attention to the bulge in his pant. 

In one fluid motion Edward slides to the floor, sinks to his knees and tentatively places his hands on Frank’s thighs. 

“May I, Sir?” he asks, opting to use the honorific out of instinct. It was a good call for Frank shivers when he hears it. 

“Of course.” His voice is raspy and Edward has never felt more wanted in his life. 

He takes his time, moving his palms up Frank’s legs until he is cupping his erection through his pants. Frank’s hips buckle a bit and a gasps escapes him. When Edward looks up he sees that the politician is worrying his lower lip between his teeth, clearly trying to restrain himself. 

He won’t have none of that. He makes quick work of the zipper despite his subpar coordination due to the alcohol he has consumed, then slides down both pants and underwear and exposes Frank’s erection to the warm air of the bedroom. 

It’s been a while, though Edward has thought about this often enough to feel secure in his actions. He leans in, gathering up the beads of precome that are already leaking from the slit. Frank hisses in pleasure, and it turns into a moan as Edward swallows him down as far as he can. He uses his right hand to cover the rest while the left caresses Frank’s testicles.

After that he gets lost in the process, trying to tease out every possible noise from Frank’s throat, alternating pressure and rhythm. When finally a hand curls into his hair it is Edward’s turn to moan. Frank’s hips buckle at the noise and the tip of his cock hits the back of Edward’s throat, making him splutter for a moment before he catches himself again. 

“Stop,” Frank gasps soon thereafter and Edward obeys immediately, drawing off with an obscene ‘pop’ and gazing up into Frank’s blown pupils. “I want to do so much more to you.”

Frank looks to Claire then and Edward mirrors him. She has gotten to her feet, shoes discarded behind her, one hand in her lap. It is a good thing that Edward’s inhibitions are this low or otherwise he wouldn’t have shuffled towards her as swiftly as he does. He places his hands on her hips, stroking upwards so that he is pushing up her dress until he can place a chaste kiss to her clit through the fabric of her panties. 

She pulls him up with a hand on his shoulder, then walks backwards towards the bed where she lies down next to her husband. They share a kiss and Frank opens the zipper of her dress. Edward shucks his clothes as well, having rid himself of jacket, shirt and pants before the Underwoods turn back towards him once more. He blushes underneath their scrutiny, especially when their gaze lingers on the damp spot on his briefs. 

He hasn’t spent a lot of time thinking about the logistics of threesomes. They were always a mystery, how three people would manage to form an enjoyable experience. Though when he sinks into the tight heat of Claire while feeling a lubed finger circle his hole, he doesn’t know how he could ever have doubted it would work. 

*

Even years after his military service ended, Edward still wakes silently, unnoticeably. From one moment to the next he is awake. What once was a necessity now is a strange tick that he has accepted. 

On the morning after he is grateful since it takes him a moment to realize where he is and how he got there. 

He notes the pleasant burn in his butt, the light pain on his back where Claire’s fingernails dug into his skin, and a surprisingly mild headache. He also realizes that he has no idea how to act now. 

Was it a one-time thing? Should he leave before the couple wakes up? Should he wait until they rise? But he can’t – he needs to go home, shower, get changed… 

“Stop fretting,” Frank grumbles and it almost makes Edward flinch in surprise. His eyes blink open without his explicit consent and he shouldn’t be surprised that Frank’s gaze is as sharp seconds after waking up as it ever is. 

“Sir?” 

“I believe at this point in our relationship you should call me Frank. At least when we are naked in the same bed.”

Edward can’t help the nervous chuckle that escapes him. “My apologies, Frank.”

“Good. Next you can stop overthinking this,” he continues, his voice gaining strength as the sleep fades away. “I have the utmost faith in your professionalism, though not mentioning this does not exempt it from happening again, should the mood arise.”

He has no idea how to respond, so instead Edward smiles. 

After a moment, Frank actually smiles back. Edward counts this as his biggest win so far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be short and posted as a one-shot. Since the first part is already this long I decided to split in into five chapters. The second one will follow tomorrow and the rest hopefully in quick succession. 
> 
> I live of air and kudos, so don’t be shy and maybe leave a comment if you liked it?
> 
> You can also harass me on [tumblr](http://multifandom-madnesss.tumblr.com/) :)


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The congressional committee is putting a strain on Frank and Edward just wants to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't wait, so I simply decided to post part 2 immediately. Enjoy :)

2\. 

Nothing changes. Maybe a few little things, a softer look from Claire here, a smirk from Frank there, but all in all when Edward is guarding him it seems as if nothing happened. 

Nevertheless a strange kind of tension settles over the three of them, or maybe that’s just Edward’s imagination. After all, tension in general is running high as the President shuns Frank’s calls and Edward just wants to make it better, if he only could. 

But he’s not a politician and he doesn’t understand the finer processes that come so naturally to Frank. People might not have called Edward stupid in the past, but he hasn’t been to Ivy League schools and he doesn’t write letters to the editors of intellectual magazines. Through his job he gets a glimpse, and mostly he can even connect the dots but at other times a lot of things escape him. 

Which is fair, since his focus is on threats and crowds, not on the manipulation and backstabbing that is ever-present in the capitol. 

*

The mood in the Underwoods’ townhouse is strained. From what Edward gathered it is possible that Frank might go to prison in the worst-case scenario. His instincts are yelling at him to protect the couple, but he can’t do anything against the judicial branch of government. So Edward bites his tongue and bides his time. If there is anything he can do, Frank will tell him. 

That moment comes on the morning of Tusk’s congressional committee hearing. 

“You wanted to see me, sir?” Edward asks upon entering Frank’s office. It is incredibly early and the Vice President doesn’t seem to have slept at all. 

“I have a job for you,” Frank explains and holds out an envelope. “I need you to go to Camp David and bring this to President Walker. Hand it over yourself, no matter what anyone says. I need this delivered to him in person, and as soon as possible.”

“Of course. Right away, sir.” 

He accepts the letter, wondering if this is the weapon that will fix everything. 

“Oh, and Meechum?” Frank calls out when Edward’s hand is on the doorknob, making him turn around. “Report to me when you come back.”

Edward nods and leaves. 

*

The drive to Camp David is an hour and a half and it only takes mild convincing on his part for the Secret Service agents to let him through to where the President is wandering the grounds alone so early in the morning. 

Edward sees him opening the envelope out of the corners of his eyes when he walks away. 

Frank is stressed for the rest of the day. No one else notices but Edward has spent so much time in the man’s presence that he is aware of every little nuance of his expression. So when the news of Tusk’s allegations break and Edward realizes that whatever the letter said must have worked because Frank is smiling, and he also notices that the tension hasn’t yet left Frank’s shoulders completely. 

Without liquid courage it is a lot harder to turn around at the end of his shift and knock on Frank’s office door, but Edward feels like he has to at least try. A curt “Come in” and then Edward is in the office where Frank seems to have been lost in thought before he interrupted. 

Frank’s brows crease in a mixture of confusion and worry. “Meechum? Is something wrong?”

“No, sir. I…” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “I’m off duty and I wanted to check if you are alright, sir. You se- It’s been a stressful day.”

Within a heartbeat Frank’s gaze turns calculating and he spins in his chair so that he is completely facing him. 

“Look at you, growing some balls.”

A short laugh escapes Edward before he can stop it and he can feel heat rising in his cheeks. Judging by the amused look on Frank’s face, the other man can too. 

“I’m sorry, sir. It was presumptuous of me.” 

His revised plan is to flee before he can embarrass himself any further, but Frank just shakes his head and leans back in his chair. 

“And how did you think you could help with my, uh, stress?” Frank drawls, the accent thick in his voice. 

Sensing the change in atmosphere, Edward adjusts and instead of a hasty retreat he steps forward. He has no idea if he’s seductive or if it even looks like anything as he advances, but Frank remains patient, looking up at him from his place at the desk, turning the chair to track is movements.

“I thought you could do with some release, Frank,” is what Edward says when he reaches a point next to the office chair. 

It was the right thing to say since Frank’s expression morphs into a leer. “You might be right.”

He pushes the chair back and rises, leaning his back against the desk and tilting his head at Edward. “Well?”

It’s as much permission as he is going to get and this time it is the adrenaline that fills his veins instead of alcohol that spurs him into action. He kneels, exposing Frank’s already hardening cock with deft and steady fingers. Edward sucks tentatively, first only the tip, then the entire shaft, feeling the blood fill it with every stroke of his tongue. 

Once Frank is fully erect, Edward opts for continuous pressure as his tongue strokes the underside of the glans, massaging the point where it meets the shaft. Frank keens above him and a hand grips his hair. 

Edward brings his hands around the other man’s body, cupping Frank’s ass and pushing it forward. He looks up and finds Frank staring back at him, a question in his eyes. Edward pushes again and the motion slides Frank’s erection deeper into his mouth, almost all the way back. He moans softly around the length, the vibrations transforming into a shiver running up the VP’s body. 

Frank understands and he follows through immediately. Two hands are suddenly holding Edward’s head in place as Frank starts thrusting, shallow at first, giving him time to adjust, but soon his pace picks up. 

It doesn’t take long for Edward’s eyes to water, for the head of Frank’s cock to hit the back of his throat. He uses the hands still squeezing Frank’s ass to show it’s okay, it’s fine, it’s more than fine and moments later Frank is fucking his mouth in earnest, pushing himself forward more and more with each thrust while Edward moans when he has enough air to do so. His own erection is straining against his zipper but this is for Frank and besides, he needs his hands to keep the balance.

On the next shove, Edward stops Frank from withdrawing, pushing his erection further into his mouth until he can swallow around the head and for the first time witnesses Frank Underwood going wild. 

There’s no other way to describe it – where Frank was enthusiastic before, he looses what control he still had and snaps his hips so fast it makes Edward’s vision blur and his cock twitch in his pants. 

Hands tighten in his hair and Frank thrusts shallowly once, twice and then pushes forward with one last burst of strength and comes down Edward’s throat. He swallows it all, to the very last drop, and only gets to breathe again once Frank has pulled out. 

Edward falls backwards, collapsing onto his elbows and gulping in air. He must look absolutely ruined, his lips feel bruised and his cheeks wet from tears. Before he can decide whether it’d be okay for him to jerk off right there on the floor, Frank makes the decision for him. The other man drops to the floor as well and practically tears open Edward’s fly. 

He has fantasized about those hands, touching him, getting it off, but no fantasy compares to the real sensation of being the focus of Frank Underwood’s entire attention. Within moments he has figured out exactly how Edward likes to be stroked, which angle and which combination of pressure and pace elicits the most obscene noises. 

Frank swallows them with a kiss and that is just too much. Edward’s orgasm hits him with the force of a bullet, leaving him gasping into Frank’s mouth while he strokes him through it, taking everything he has to give. 

When the haze clears and Edward can form a coherent thought again, Frank’s still sitting on the floor, flushed and more relaxed than he has looked in days. 

He doesn’t thank him out loud, doesn’t even say goodbye, but Edward can see the sentiment bright and clear in the upward curl of Frank’s mouth and the spark in his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I wanted this to happen when Edward returned from Camp David but then he complained that he’s on duty and would never ever abandon his post. Gotta admire his dedication ;) 
> 
> Don't be shy and let me know if you liked it - comments make my day!


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank becomes President and Edward offers his help with unpacking boxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of this chapter, this story is AU for Season 3. Oh, and hello, plot :)

**3.**

When the situation resolves itself, it happens fast. One moment Edward is accompanying the Underwoods to Camp David in a helicopter, the next he is standing in front of the Oval Office, watching the 46th President of the United States walk towards his new home for the very first time. 

Edward finds it difficult to keep his expression blank. His thoughts are tripping all over one another, things like _‘Holy shit - I’m on the President’s protective detail’_ to the more private _‘Holy shit - I slept with the President’_. Judging by the smirk Frank sends his way the man knows exactly what is going through Edward’s mind. 

The transition is swift and effective. Frank moves with a speed that dazzles both the press and his colleagues and Edward feels his pride for his job grow more and more each day. 

It takes a full week for the Walkers to move out of the White House, which also gives the Underwoods enough time to pack up their town house for the change. Edward starts thinking about maybe moving as well – he got a nice raise back when he changed from Capitol Police to Secret Service and he’s still living in a dingy, small apartment. 

Before he has a chance to actively look for a place, Nancy intercepts him on his way home shortly after Frank’s inauguration. 

“Mr. Meechum? Could you come in a few minutes earlier tomorrow? The First Lady would like to have a word with you.”

“Of course,” he replies. “Did she say what this is about?” He tries and fails to keep the worry out of his tone. Did the Underwoods decide he has become a liability? 

“No, but I’m sure you don’t need to worry,” she assures him with a smile. 

It doesn’t help much, however, and he spends most of the night turning over everything he has done these past three days in his head. 

Half an hour before his shift starts, Edward is led into the First Lady’s office, where Claire is quick to send her secretary away with a thank you and pulls Edward into a brief hug that throws him a little off balance. 

“Now why do you look so worried?” Claire asks with a frown. 

“Uh, Nancy did not say what this is about, madam.”

“Oh, I was just going to ask a favor of you.”

Relief floods his veins and Edward can finally breathe again without something constricting his chest. 

“Anything, madam.” 

“Well, it was my idea so I wanted to ask you myself, though Francis is completely for it, just so you know. I wanted to ask if you could move into our townhouse? I’d feel better with someone there, to keep it lived in and maybe keep an eye on the garden. I figured maybe you’d like to move anyway, given your new position and everything. The house is close to the White House and you know it already.”

“I, uh, wow.”

“You don’t have to decide right now, Edward.”

“Are you sure, though? You want me to move in?”

“Yes, I’m sure.” Her smile is blinding in its sincerity.

“Then it would be my pleasure, madam.”

“Wonderful. Oh, and if its just the two of us, please keep calling me Claire.”

“Yes, Claire,” he concedes, intimately aware of Claire’s hands on his shoulder and biceps. 

“Great. Then I won’t keep you any longer. I’ll let Nancy know and she’ll give you the keys as soon as we’re out of the house.”

*

Nancy proves to be a well-connected secretary and no one even raises an eyebrow when Edward’s address changes in his files. He moves in after his shift on the day the Underwoods’ moving company did their thing and has unpacked his belonging within three hours. 

Later he sits on the sofa and enjoys the quality of the large flat screen TV, wondering how this became his life. 

*

The next day during a quiet moment Edward asks Frank how the move is going and the President complains about still having to unpack so much because he doesn’t trust the movers to arrange everything to his liking. 

“Well, then it would be your own fault, sir,” Edward teases, keeping his expression blank. 

“I think the townhouse is giving you illusions of grandeur, Meechum,” Frank teases him right back. 

“But if you need help, sir, I’d be more than happy to stay after my shift and carry boxes.”

“Shouldn’t you first unpack yourself before you slave away for us?”

“Oh, I finished within three hours, sir. It wouldn’t be a problem. Consider it a thank you for letting me move into the house.”

“Well, technically it is a favor to us, but alright. I guess I can let you shelf some books.”

Which is how, several hours later, Edward finds himself on the second floor of the White House in the President’s private sitting room, ordering Frank’s extensive book collection. 

Where mere mortals might arrange them alphabetically according to author name, Frank Underwood has a special system, which sorts his books topic-wise before putting them in alphabetical order and quickly proves to be the bane of Edward’s existence. While he is trying to figure out whether “Wolf Hall” qualifies as historical novel or biography, Frank is in and out of the room, finding spots for individual items that now need new places of their own. 

At some point a glass of bourbon materializes at Edward’s elbow and an hours or so later when Edward is sitting in the midst of piles of sorted books with only about twenty or thirty more to go, Frank enters the room and collapses into a chair with a huff. 

“If I’d known how much work the move would be, I’d have tried harder to convince Walker to fight the impeachment,” he grumbles. 

Edward chuckles, identifying the lie for what it is. He shuffles towards the last box, turning his back to Frank while he rummages through the remaining volumes. It really is an eclectic collection. 

Silence falls as Edward continues to place books on piles and stretches to retrieve the next one. When it has been quiet for too long, Edward glances over his shoulder, only to find Frank staring at his ass. 

The heat in Frank’s eyes makes him reach for his glass of bourbon, draining it in the process. 

“Want some more?” the other man asks, dangling the bottle in his right hand. 

“If I may?”

“Sure, but stay there, I’ll come to you,” Frank hurries to order and peels himself out of the chair. He flops down half next to, half behind Edward and refills the glass, raising his own for a toast. 

“Don’t stop on my account,” the President drawls and props himself up on one arm while sipping bourbon with the other and raking his eyes down Edward’s form. 

He hasn’t gotten hard that fast since he was a teenager. He is rapidly growing hot under his collar and is infinitely glad that he put both his jacket and his tie over a chair near the door. Intensely aware of Frank’s eyes on his every movement, he does his best to keep working. 

He decides to turn the situation into a test to see whose resolve crumbles first so instead of looking at Frank when all books have been matched with a pile, Edward tackles the first pile and starts sorting the books alphabetically (because it seems like even Frank cannot come up with an alternative at that point). 

He has almost finished the first category when he has to sit back on his heels and swipe a bit of sweat from his forehead. It’s the opening Frank waited for, apparently, because suddenly he is behind Edward, close enough so he can feel the other man’s body heat. 

“I can see what you’re doing,” he growls, wrapping an arm across Edward’s chest and pulling him close against Frank’s chest. “And I think you should take a break.”

“I’d like that,” he gasps, shivering when the new position allows him to feel Frank’s erection through his pants. 

Frank’s other hand trails a path down Edward’s chest. “At first I was planning on taking you over the desk but then I saw you on your knees here on the floor. Would you like me to fuck you right here? Or would you prefer I bend you over the desk instead?” At some point Frank’s hand has reached Edward’s crotch where it closes over his still hard cock. He can feel Frank’s breath against his neck and feel him rubbing his own erection into Edward’s ass. 

“I’d say it, uh, depends on where the lube is,” he manages. 

A movement in his peripheral vision makes him turn his head until he catches sight of the bottle of lube that Frank has placed on the floor. Edward didn’t even fully realize that Frank had withdrawn the arm not currently rubbing him through the fabric of his pants. 

“How do you want me, Frank?” he asks instead of simply agreeing to the second plan. 

Frank releases a shaky breath, resting his forehead on his shoulder. “Hands and knees,” he finally growls and shuffles backwards to give him some room. 

“Do you want me to take off my clothes?”

Frank “hm”s briefly. “Yes. Your back muscles deserve to be seen.”

The compliment colors his cheeks and Edward scrambles to take off his shirt and pants to cover it up. Soon all his clothes are lying on a halfway neat pile on his shoes to the side while only his briefs remain. He slips them down slowly but surely, aware of how Frank’s eyes chase the fabric down his legs until they, too, land on the other clothes. 

Edward assumes the position then, gets down on his hands and knees, waiting in thrilled anticipation for the President’s first move. And doesn’t that thought just make him shiver. 

He hears a belt opening, then the noise of a zipper and the rustling of fabric. After that Frank leans over him, draping himself across his back and angling his hips in a way that makes his erection rub directly into the crack of Edward’s ass. 

Frank’s shirt is soft against his skin, only the buttons leave behind a few stings but before it can really hurt, there is a tongue on his shoulder, tracing the relief of his muscles, and hands caressing his sides almost reverently. When they reach his ass they massage his cheeks, pulling them apart and exposing him to the cold air. 

Without warning, Frank flicks his tongue across his opening, making Edward cry out in surprise and shock. 

Frank’s smug laughter comes as no surprise. “If I were more patient I’d spread you out on this very rug and eat you out until you forgot your name,” he drawls, and the thought alone makes Edward’s cock twitch where it is hanging between his legs, full and hard. “But I’m impatient now, so maybe some other time.”

The sound of a cap opening, lube trickling down, hands warming up the fluid and then there is a finger circling him, steady and firm, willing him to relax quickly. Edward does his best to comply and the finger slips into him without much trouble. 

Where others might have rushed the prep, or considered it just a means to an end, Frank doesn’t hurry the process. He’s thorough, scissoring his fingers once he has worked another one in, taking the time necessary for Edward’s body to adjust and once he finally thinks Frank is finished, the other man maneuvers a bit until he brushes against Edward’s prostate. 

“Fuck,” Edward gasps. 

“Just one moment,” Frank says, placing a soothing hand on his lower back, rubbing circles into his skin. “Whenever I do this,” another jolt of pleasure, another gasp, “your body twitches; it’s inspiring.”

Edward’s reply is a pathetically needy groan that only intensifies the more attention Frank gives his prostate. 

When he finally thinks it’s too much, that he’ll come in a second, Frank removes his hand and Edward gets to catch his breath again before something larger nudges his entrance. If he pushes back a little without really giving his body permission to do so, no one needs to know. 

Frank pushes in swiftly, is soon buried balls-deep inside of him, right hand on his shoulder, left hand on his hip. Edward hopes Frank will grip him tight enough to leave bruises. No one would see but himself, every morning in the mirror. 

The pace the other man starts with is torturously slow, luxurious rolls of his hip that shortly lead to Edward rocking back on his knees, silently begging for more. 

“Someone’s eager,” Frank whispers in his ear, then bites his shoulder but he picks up the rhythm, fucking into him with rapid thrusts that gain in strength until Edward’s knees rub against the rug. He’ll carry the burn scars for a while, he thinks with a happy grin. 

Suddenly an arm winds around his torso and pulls him up abruptly so he is leaning back against Frank’s chest. The change in angle means that Frank now never misses his prostate, making him whine and keen as all he can do is hold on for the ride. 

“You better not come all over the rug, what are the cleaners going to say?” Frank warns him before his tongue licks a path down from his ear towards the curve of his neck. 

It takes way more cognitive function that Edward is capable of at the moment, but he manages to grab his cock, angling it towards his chest. 

“Good boy.”

The praise is his undoing. 

Edward spills himself all over his chest, a few streaks covering the arm that Frank still has wrapped around him to keep him up. Frank really fucks into him then, hips pistoning upward and the pressure on his prostate makes Edward’s cock twitch feebly, trying in vain to come to life again. 

When Frank finally follows him over the edge, Edward thinks he can feel him pulse inside of him, filling him. 

Frank’s arm releases him and he falls forward, catching himself on his elbows, eyes closed. 

It takes a few minutes until he manages to get to his feet again. Frank guides him through the bedroom into the bathroom, throwing him a cloth with a grin. Edward wets it but starts with Frank, earning himself a surprised look. Once Frank’s now flaccid cock is free of lube and come, Edward cleans up his chest while Frank watches, apparently fascinated by Edward’s abs. 

He throws he towel into the hamper, intending to exit the bathroom but Frank doesn’t move out of the way, even brings his hands up to rub them all over Edward’s pecks and stomach. Edward’s eyes dart towards his lips then and a moment later they’re kissing, slow and unhurried. 

“You should get home, get some rest,” Frank tells him. 

For a split second Edward entertains the thought that he could offer to stay, keep Frank company since Claire is out of town to gather support for her bill, but he realizes how flawed that idea is so he doesn’t end up making the suggestion. 

He just nods, gets dressed and lets Frank guide him to the door, which he unlocks first. 

“Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Meechum.”

It’s only when he is back in his new home after doing his best to avoid showing his face to the security cameras in the residence’s vicinity that Edward takes a look at his hips in the light of the en suite. 

The imprint of Frank’s hand is faint, but it is there and Edward caresses it until he drifts off to sleep.

*

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~If I were any god at drawing, I’d draw Edward in front of his mirror admiring the handprint. Too bad I’m better with words.~~
> 
> The wonderful [corbeaunoir](http://corbeaunoir.tumblr.com) drew the image of Edward for me! Thanks so much <3 Here is the post on [their tumblr](http://corbeaunoir.tumblr.com/post/104706997367/the-imprint-of-franks-hand-is-faint-but-it-is). 
> 
> PS: I couldn’t find anything as to security cameras in the residence so I decided there are none. I’m sure the President has that much privacy^^ Thought according to Scandal there is one in the Oval, so sex on the desk would be a tad difficult to manage. (The things I worry about, srly…)
> 
> PPS: Also thanks to corbeaunoir for spotting a typo!


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claire resumes her campaign for her military bill and becomes a target again, so Edward moves to her security detail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the very first explicit het I have written, so – yeah. Go easy on me?

**4.**

It is with a sense of déjà vu that Edward once again becomes Claire’s personal bodyguard. 

She has been making waves with her military bill, gathering so much support that some people started to get cold feet. More and more threats have reached the White House until they can’t be ignored any longer. 

“I want you with Claire at all times,” Frank tells him and Edward nods with grim determination. 

He keeps his word just like last time, plays his part as the shadow that never goes away. It’s a good thing too, for at her seventh public appearance Edward spots a man in the crowd who has been to at least four of the other events. He has a thin scar across the right half of his face but is otherwise unremarkable if one doesn’t count the way he holds himself. His posture screams military, the scar speaks of a traumatic event in the past. 

Edward calls it in, has his colleagues pull the guy out of the crowd and as soon as the first agent reaches the man, his hand twitches towards something Edward can’t quite see. He moves instinctively, is about to shield Claire when the agent in the crowd takes the man down before he can even so much as touch any weapon. 

They increase security even more after that since Claire refuses to cancel any appearances she has. A week later Claire returns to the White House unharmed but exhausted to an empty residence since her husband is holed up in a meeting. 

“Why don’t you drop by after your shift?” Claire suggests as they reach the door where they will part for another hour. “I’ll have the cook dish up something. You must be even more exhausted than I am.”

“I’m fine, madam.”

She smiles indulgently. “But you’ll drop by? I won’t take no for an answer.”

Edward doesn’t know whether she means to echo that night from a few months ago but it seems like that to him and it leaves his mouth dry. He agrees and spends the following hour until he is relieved of duty in anxious anticipation. 

He needn’t have worried. Claire has a way of putting people at ease and it’s even smoother when she is being genuine about it – well, at least Edward likes to think she’s genuine about it with him. 

After dinner they end up in front of the fireplace in her rooms, which she primarily uses as an office and sleeps in the President’s room with Frank. 

Edward tells her funny stories about his time in Afghanistan and his eight-week training period prior to his service on VP Frank’s protective detail. Her cheeks are flushed from wine and laughter and the fire reflects in her shiny hair. 

He doesn’t realize he’s staring until she chuckles, uncrossing and re-crossing her legs, which draws Edward’s eyes to her lap. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles and tries to drown himself in his glass. He has no idea whether this would be okay, whatever this might be. He has wondered about it after his last encounters with Frank, but Claire never acted differently around him so he figured it must have been okay. Well, then this should be okay as well, shouldn’t it?

“Is there something you want, Edward?” Claire all but purrs, uncrossing her legs again and reclining a bit more in the chair. 

He swallows the last of his drink and licks his lips. “Maybe.”

“No need to be shy. I know all the details about you and Francis, so you can stop with the false propriety.”

Edward smiles at that and places his glass on the side table before rising and walking over to her. He wonders if he should be worried that it is always him getting down on his knees when with the Underwoods, but he enjoys it too much to find a problem with it. 

So he does, wrapping his hands around Claire’s ankles. His thumbs are stroking her skin through a layer of nylon while he uses the chance and stares shamelessly, drinking in everything from the creases in her dress to her sleek earrings and still perfectly made-up eye shadow. 

He gently caresses her calves and carefully pushes her dress up, trying (and probably failing) to avoid creasing it more than necessary. 

When he finishes, Claire is leaning her cheek on her right hand, fingers splayed and cupping her face while she watches him without comment. Her panties are white and somehow that surprises him a little. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but white wasn’t it. 

She lifts her hips as he slides down panties and pantyhose in one, then slips off her shoes. He makes sure to put them aside as orderly as possible and if Claire finds that amusing she doesn’t say. She simply remains there, relaxed, watching and waiting, legs parted. 

Edward starts slow, placing a single kiss on her clit before flattening his tongue and licking down slowly until he reaches her opening, then circles back. He found that eating a woman out is one of the most challenging aspects of sex and there’s no perfect solution since everyone is different. So he takes his time, tries out different things, makes sure Claire is relaxed and then listens to her breathing, keeps half an eye on the hand that is gripping the arm rest. 

He finds out that she prefers up-and-down licks for her clit, that her lips are sensitive and that a flick of the tongue across her perineum makes her gasp. He gets lost in the rhythm, does his best to surprise her but also keeps with repetitive motions. 

It’s when he adds a finger that her breath really becomes ragged. 

He remembers a few of her preferences from the first time he fucked her, though the details are hazy and hidden in a cloud of lust and alcohol, so he applies what he recalls, thrusts deep, sucks on her clit, increases the pressure steadily, working her up and up until there’s no higher to go. 

She comes with a breathy moan, her vagina clenching around his fingers. Suddenly there’s a gasp from the other side of the room and Edward’s head whips around, fingers still buried inside Claire, his lips wet from her slick. 

Frank is standing there, clearly just returned from that late meeting since he’s still wearing his entire suit. He must have been watching for a bit because his mouth is slightly open and he is palming himself through his pants. 

“Don’t stop. Maybe you’ll even break my record,” he rasps with a smirk. 

Edward shifts his hand so that his thumb is now massaging Claire’s clit, slow and steady to keep her on a certain level of stimulation. “What was your record, sir?”

“Eight. She begged me to stop after that.” His grin is incredibly self-satisfied. 

Edward swallows. “I’ll take that bet.”

“Bet? What does the winner get?”

“The right to brag,” Claire cuts in, rotating her hips, probably to show Edward that he better get a move on. 

Frank chuckles and moves his hands to his belt as he steps closer. Edward shifts on his knees, trying to distribute the weight better so he won’t start to ache before he intends to finish. He has never tried anything like this but if Edward prides himself with anything, it’s perseverance. 

He dives in again, uses what he learnt to his advantage, the sound of skin stroking skin filling his ears, a constant reminder that Frank’s _right there_ , watching, enjoying the show. 

Edward grabs Claire’s ankles after her second orgasm, lifts them onto his shoulders to change the angle and just keeps going until he has nothing but Claire’s taste and smell on his mind. Spit and slick is trickling down past her frenulum and Edward uses it to ease the way when he circles her anus with his left hand while still three-fingers deep inside her with his right. 

By now there are hands gripping his hair, sending sparks of pleasure right down to his groin where his own erection is starting to grow painful. 

Her grip tightens suddenly and her ankles are digging into his shoulder as she spasm around his fingers, a moan filling the room that is higher than the ones before. Frank echoes her with a groan of his own and steps closer. Their eyes meet when Edward comes up for air. 

He has to look absolutely wrecked, with spit and other fluids smeared around his lips. Frank kisses him anyway, hungry and fierce. He bites his lower lip when they part. 

Without warning, Claire pulls back her legs and sits up, her hands pushing Edward back. He follows the movement and ends up on his back with Clair straddling him and then her lips are on his, sucking at the spot that her husband just bit. 

He can’t help the way his hips jerk up, though all Claire does is smile down at him and maneuver on top of him until she can unzip his pants and expose his leaking cock. She pulls off her dress over her head, unceremoniously tossing it aside and quickly follows it with her bra. 

Edward immediately brings his hands up to cup her breasts, massaging them while she positions herself above him. She sinks down slowly, almost torturously so. Edward gasps, but it morphs into a moan when she starts to rock her hips.

She grinds down, chasing friction so Edward pushes himself up until he’s sitting and able to thrust up, rubbing his pelvis across her clit with every roll of his hips. 

Frank comes with a strangled moan, and Edward allows himself to smirk in the knowledge that he lasted longer than Frank this time. He puts all his energy into bringing Claire one last orgasm, sucking on her nipples and licking her throat, tracing her back with his hands until she is clutching him, gasping into his shoulder. 

The way she clenches around his cock is his undoing and he follows immediately after her with an orgasm so intense he believes he sees stars. 

It takes them all a long time to gather their wits again after that. 

Eventually, Frank breaks the silence. “I counted four.”

Edward snorts. “Well, you’ve had more practice than me.”

“Excuses of a lesser man.”

“I have no problem with being the lesser man,” Edward admits, his tongue loosened in post-orgasmic bliss. And maybe from the extensive oral sex he just had. Anyway, it slips out and he doesn’t think before he speaks so now Frank and Claire are both looking at him with expressions he can’t quite name. 

“Oh, you’re quite extraordinary yourself,” Claire whispers and something warm spreads in Edward’s chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now I have feelings... And yay, one more chapter to go! Yet since I have 8 hours of classes tomorrow spread out across the entire day I'm afraid the fifth installment will follow no earlier than Wednesday. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, you guys are great motivators <3


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edward receives some devastating news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise! I finished this earlier than expected, so here is part V, but there’ll be a part VI aka “The +1 scene” since this one got, uh, somewhat longer. Plus, I’m sick and posting this will improve my mood. 
> 
> I should **warn for feelings and angst** in this one!

**5.**

At one point during the first few months of Frank’s Presidency, Edward reads an article on the concept of rebirth during his lunch break and decides that his past life must have sucked if he gets to be on the President’s Secret Service detail in this one. 

Of course he hasn’t always been this lucky – shortly after he returned from the war he wasn’t sure what to do with his life until his sister’s husband, then an FBI official, now a little higher up in the ranks, suggested the capitol police. 

At the moment Edward is content, happy even – he has a meaningful job again, a great house curtsey of Frank and Claire and occasional mind-blowing sex with the couple. 

Though maybe there is something like universal justice, for exactly when his life is on track, his sister’s life derails. 

“Cancer,” she says, the implications of the news still weighing down her shoulders. “In my stomach, at least originally. It’s already spread to my brain.”

“How long?” Edward croaks. 

“They gave me six months max.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

She doesn’t have any kids yet, always wanted to wait until she got to a point in her career when she could afford to take off a few years to raise the kids. She’s only thirty-two, after all. 

“If you need anything, I’ll help as best as I can,” Edward promises and means it. 

“I know you can’t take off work, you’re guarding the President.”

“You’re my sister, Sam.”

“We’ll find a way. You have a day a week off. We’ll watch all the movies we’ve always planned to watch, see the sights of DC that we felt too cool to visit before. It’ll be fun, Ed.”

He smiles at her, his chest constricting as he mentally counts how many weeks there are in six months. 

*

They start the very next weekend. Sam is exhausted from the therapy they’re trying anyway, so Edward borrows DVDs from the Underwood’s library, which they left behind when they moved (“I never watch anything more than one time,” Frank once explained). 

“Where’d you get those? Aren’t you more of a Netflix kind of guy?” Sam wonders when he shows her his selection and Edward admits to moving. 

“ _The President_ gave you his house?” she shrieks as if she’s 14 again, gossiping with him about his friends in ROTC.

“They trust me. And I like the garden. Gives me something to do,” is his evasive answer. 

“Yeah, right. How close are you really?” 

Edward’s blood runs cold when her gaze turns calculating. They might not see each other all that often, but she still knows him better than anyone. 

So he takes the only way out that comes to mind. 

“I guess I’m a bit like a son to them, to be honest. It’s nice, you know.”

It stifles any further questions immediately. They both lost their parents very young, grew up with their grandparents instead. She won’t question his need for a father figure and Edward releases the breath he didn’t realize he was holding when she drops the topic and instead selects a movie. 

*

Edward’s mood only plummets when the three-month mark passes and his mind catches up with the horrible truth that soon, his only remaining family will be dead. 

It hits him from one moment to the next as he’s returning from another movie night at Sam’s, the thought that he won’t be doing that anymore very, very soon. 

He doesn’t have any big epiphanies. He doesn’t suddenly discover something previously hidden about himself. He just… gains a new perspective, perhaps. Realizes that he, too, could die any moment he is on duty. It’s what he signed up for, what he loves doing, what he’s good at. 

The only thing that changes, maybe, is that with all this comes a new appreciation for the smaller things, like the twinkle in Frank’s eye at a debrief when Edward is being all professional and assertive. Or the way that Claire’s expression softens whenever she catches sight of him. Or even the way the flowers in the town house garden seem to flourish under his care. 

Well, or the way that one day Frank seems to have made it his personal mission to distract Edward from doing his job. 

His sister only has two months left and he’s spending every free minute with her that she’s not spending with her husband Brad, though when he enters the White House Edward leaves all that pain at the gate. It takes an immense amount of energy but he’s learnt in Bahrain to compartmentalize stuff, and this is similar even if he isn’t responsible for Sam’s death. 

Still, when Frank begins to send him heated glances at a public outing the second week of Claire’s tour, it catches Edward a bit off guard. The First Lady has launched her very first campaign – an empowering countrywide initiative teaching young people self-defense. It isn’t only directed at girls and women, but at people of all genders. Male rape is the second taboo Claire Underwood has decided to tackle, as it seems. 

However that means that Frank is alone at the White House during a time filled with boring meetings and debates. As far as Edward can tell – and he’s his primary security detail, so he’d know – Frank isn’t doing anything extortion-wise at the moment and for a man like him this sort of inertia is definitely a challenge. 

So apparently working innuendo into his sentences and winking at his Secret Service agent are his coping mechanism. 

It’s all nice and well until the end of the week when the President pauses while passing Edward on the way out of the door, leans in and murmurs, “Come to my bedroom after your shift. I want to look forward to you, naked and kneeling on my bed while I’m meeting with the Secretary.”

Edward misses a step and screws up the escort process out of the room and he’s pretty sure his ears are turning red. He curses himself for his sloppiness, even as he hears Frank’s hushed laughter while he follows him through the hallway and out of the building. 

*

Needless to say, Edward makes his way to the President’s bedroom later that evening after grabbing a quick bite in the cafeteria. He has Frank’s schedule mesmerized so he knows he still has one and a half hours until he gets company. 

Thirty minutes of those are spent making his way to the residence. He is holding a file just as an excuse in case anyone stops him but his badge gets him access without any problems. He is familiar with the positions of the security cameras and besides, he didn’t serve for nothing, so they don’t pose too big a problem. 

He’s never been inside the bedroom. Sure, he passed through last time on the way to the bathroom, but he never had the time to inspect it. It looks a lot like the master bedroom at the townhouse, clear lines and no frills. Thinking of the bathroom makes him decide that a shower might actually be the best way to use the hour he still has. 

By the time Frank is due to be back, Edward has stripped and positioned himself on the bed, feeling only slightly dirty despite the thorough wash.

His head is a mess. From time to time he gets a pang when the fact of his sister’s condition floats to the surface of his mind, unbidden but persistent. Then there’s the risk he’s taking just now. The bedroom isn’t off limits _per se_ , so it might not be Frank who’s coming through that door when it opens. That thought shouldn’t make him hard, but it does. Which leads him to another aspect – knowing that his time might be limited, he doesn’t care how inappropriate this might be. He wants to be here. He’s wound so tight from the past weeks with Sam and his workload on top of that; he deserves to indulge. 

And if indulging means kneeling naked and hard on the bed of the President of the United States of America, so be it. 

The door opens with a soft creak. It’s barely audible except he listened for it. Immediately all the muscles in Edward’s body tense up and he sucks in a sharp breath that fails to calm his racing pulse. 

“I was going to ask if you found waiting equally _hard_ as I did,” a familiar drawl comes from the doorway, “but I see that the answer is self-evident.”

A grin spreads on Edward’s face. “Indeed, sir.”

He catches Frank give a short shudder at the honorific in the dim light from the lamp on the nightstand. 

“Alas, what am I going to do with you tonight?”

“Whatever you want, sir.” 

He meets Frank’s gaze head on, loosing himself in the situation, the atmosphere, relishing the excitement coursing through his veins. 

“I think I’m going to touch you all over and then I’m going to watch.”

“Watch?” Edward breathes, licking his lips in anticipation. 

“Watch. It struck me last time how delicious you look. I haven appreciated that as much as I should in the past. I’m going to remedy that now.”

Edward remains silent as Frank approaches, unbuttoning his jacket, undoing his tie and toeing off his shoes until he is wearing only his shirt, dress pants and a hungry leer. 

Frank starts off with a kiss, surprisingly soft and gently, just like his fingertips as they brush across planes of skin, causing goose bumps to erupt in their wake. Lips move down, tracing an invisible line down his neck and fastening around a nipple, sucking until it is hard and flushed before moving on to the next. 

It takes a great deal of self-control to remain still. Frank touches every inch of him, tracing the outline of his abs and hamstrings, wrapping big hands around his biceps, stroking his thighs, caressing his back. 

By the time Frank slides off the bed, Edward’s cock is resting against his stomach, a few drops of precome smeared across the skin there. 

“Touch yourself,” Frank orders, stepping back and worrying his lower lip between his teeth. 

Edward does, forcing a slow pace while he shuffles a bit on the sheets. 

Frank’s eyes are on his erection, then they roam freely, taking in the minute twitches of Edward’s body. Even though it’s not the first time, it’s still incredibly intense to have a man like Frank focused solely on himself. 

A shiver runs through Edward’s body and he speeds up his strokes. He’s looking Frank right in the eye when he brings up the hand not jerking himself off and sucks two fingers into his mouth. 

A few meters away the other man groans and finally unbuckles his belt for better access to his own erection. Frank’s lips part in a silent gasp as he watches Edward reach behind him and work a spit-slick finger inside his body. 

“Oh yeah,” Frank moans, and the huskiness in his tone is an incredible motivator. Edward tries his best to put on a show, breathing in deeply to highlight his chest and stomach while he works himself up to three fingers. 

He doesn’t know how long he kneels on the bed, though at some point, when Frank is starting to loose it, Edward notices that something’s wrong. He’s getting worked up alright, comes near the peak but he never actually reaches it. 

A shudder wrecks his body after he thumbs his slit just the way he loves it, just the way that usually gets him if not over the edge, then close to it, though it’s different this time. 

Edward slumps his shoulder a little, bowing his head and closing his eyes against the room, hand stilling on his erection. What the hell is wrong with him?

The touch of a finger underneath his chin startles him. It’s Frank, of course, tilting his head up to make him meet his eyes. 

“Let me help with that,” he whispers, voice deep and thick with arousal. 

Then they’re kissing and Frank bats his hand away to grip his cock himself. He sets a quick pace without ever breaking the kiss while Edward does his best to loose himself in the sensation. 

When Frank draws back a little, a whine leaves Edward’s throat and he tries to catch the other man’s lips again. Frank chuckles. 

“Oh no, I’ve got other plans…” He trails off but pushes at Edward’s shoulders. “Lie back.”

Edward pulls his fingers out and does as he’s told, absolutely unprepared for the sight of Frank Underwood climbing onto the bed after him and then taking his cock into his mouth. 

“Fuck,” Edward can’t help but cry out and he can feel the vibrations of Frank’s laughter around his length. 

Frank’s as great at giving head as he is at everything else he sets his mind to. He plays with Edward’s slit, uses his hands and his spit to slick up two fingers that replace Edward’s own. 

If someone asked him to reconstruct exactly what Frank did, he wouldn’t be able to do it. Whatever was wrong with his head before has disappeared and suddenly he’s drowning in an onslaught of sensations. Tight, wet heat surrounding his cock, fingers deliberately brushing his prostate, toe-curling pleasure shooting up his spine and making his hands fist into the sheets until there is nowhere to go but across the threshold.

Edward has enough presence of mind left to clutch at Frank’s hair, trying to warn him but the President just stays put, almost greedily swallowing every drop Edward is able to give. 

He tries to sit up when the aftershocks die down but a slight shake of the head from Frank stops him. He’s smiling down at Edward as he kneels up and resumes jerking himself off, aiming his cock at Edward’s bare torso. 

So he writhes as enticingly as possible on the bed despite his heavy limbs until Frank’s control snaps and his rhythm becomes erratic. He paints Edward with long streaks of white fluid and then collapses next to him. 

Edward closes his eyes, hoping against hope that Frank didn’t notice that anything was wrong. Of course this is Frank Underwood so obviously he noticed. 

He feels the other man’s gaze before he speaks up. “So, how are you, Edward?”

“I’m fine,” he tries, not opening his eyes. Maybe this conversation will go away if he pretends to be asleep. 

“Do me the curtsey of not lying to me, please. You’re terrible at it.”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Nonsense – you’ve been down for weeks.”

That gets Edward’s attention and his eyes snap open to blink at Frank. 

“I might not have said anything but I noticed. Now, I could have just had someone look into it and find out what’s bothering you, but Claire pointed out that you’d probably tell me if I only asked.”

Edward swallows around the lump that’s suddenly formed in his throat, remaining silent.

“Well?”

“It’s, uh, my sister.”

“Ah, yes – Sandy?”

“Samantha.”

“Right. What about her?”

“She… She’s sick. Cancer.”

He’s not prepared for the look of genuine worry in Frank’s eyes. It does strange things to his insides, making his head fuzzy. 

“How long?”

“Only two more months, according to the doctors.”

He feels the burning in his eyes before he realizes he’s seriously about to cry in front of Frank. He blinks furiously, trying to regain some semblance of control. He’s supposed to be the strong protector in this constellation, not the emotional wreck. 

“You’ve been spending time with her, when you’re not working.” It’s phrased as a statement, but Edward can hear the implicit question.

“It’s fine. I see her often. We’ve been watching our way through your DVD collection, actually.”

Frank chuckles at that, though suddenly sobers up. “Wait – have you told her…?”

Edward shakes his head. “She got suspicious when I told her about the house but she thinks your and Claire are just parental figures.”

“Parental figures,” Frank echoes, somewhere between amused and skeptical. “She believed that?”

“Yeah.”

Silence falls between them then and Edward wonders if he should go. He has almost made up his mind when Frank speaks up, beating him to it. 

“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to do your shift tomorrow and then take four weeks off before your sister deteriorates even more and you won’t be able to do anything – no, no interruption, the President’s speaking,” Frank admonishes when Edward opens his mouth to object, because _four weeks_? “You’ll be glad you did when she’s gone, Edward. You might think you can’t afford to take time off but you can. It’s boring right now, no threats out of the ordinary. The other agents can handle it and you’ll regret it forever if you don’t go to be with your only living family.”

Frank delivers his speech matter-of-factly, yet his tone is softer than usual. Edward wracks his brain to remember if Frank has lost anyone or has anything to regret in terms of saying goodbye to loved ones. Sometimes Edward doubts Frank actually has loved ones with the exception of Claire. 

“I can’t accept that –“

“You can, and you will. This isn’t special treatment either. Any agent has the right to request personal leave for reasons like this.”

Edward wants to point out that hardly any agent ever uses that right but the words die in his throat. 

“Thank you,” he croaks, eliciting a smile from Frank. 

“Not at all.”

 _But yes all_ , Edward wants to argue. He knows Frank better than hardly anyone and Frank never just does anything, there’s always an angle. What does he gain by being this generous to Edward? He already has his loyalty. 

“Stop overthinking,” Frank gripes. “I take care of mine, you know that. This is something you need and I have the means of making it happen. Now come on, we should clean up and you need to get some sleep.”

Edward’s head is still spinning with unanswered questions when he climbs beneath the sheets back at the townhouse, setting his alarm for his shift the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Awww, now I have feelings… I hope you have them as well :) 
> 
> Last installment will hopefully follow tomorrow or Thursday at the latest.


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> … and one time he didn’t. At least not for Frank’s pleasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay but I’m battling a cold. Makes me wonder if Frank ever gets sick. Probably not – he’d be the one person to trick a cold out of infecting him. 
> 
> Warning: angst ahead!

**+1**

It’s almost as if Frank knew, for Sam dies two and a half weeks later.

*

Edward does as he is told and takes personal leave. His sister protests initially, though he can tell how glad she is. She, Brad and Edward spend the first week power-sight-seeing their way through DC. Sam’s health declines rapidly after that. 

The doctors say enough with their sad looks that Edward doesn’t need their explanations. He does his best to give his sister the greatest last few days possible until her body succumbs to her illness. 

Brad and he plan the funeral, which is nice and draws quite a crowd. Sam was popular, always good with people. 

There is only one bouquet of flowers, the most expensive of them all, that Brad can’t place. Edward knew as soon as he laid eyes on it that it came from the Underwoods but he keeps that information to himself. 

On his first day back Claire pulls him a hug, stifling his protests with a “There’s still three minutes before the official start of your shift.” Frank shakes his hand, placing his left hand above Edward’s before they part. 

Then life goes on. 

Brad and Edward stay in touch. They have become friends, maybe, but mostly it is because Brad knows, at least on a superficial level, that he is connected at the White House and Edward wants to keep Brad around as a backchannel into the Bureau should Frank ever need another favor. 

At work it’s a flurry of foreign visits, trips abroad which add a completely new layer of stress to Edward’s job, public appearances and generally little free time. Election time is looming over Frank’s head like a double-edged sword and he is trying his best to turn himself into the only option worth considering. 

And of course that rubs some people up the wrong way. 

It starts off with threats that the White House can’t ignore, continues online – anonymous bloggers voicing their discontent, just a “bunch of prepubescent teenagers who have yet to find their parent’s porn stash” is what Frank calls them, though everyone is smarter than to believe Frank’s underestimating a viable threat like that. 

Edward spends most of his free time pouring over plans, blueprints and schematics for venues they are going to visit, pretending to be a terrorist trying to do something drastic – where would he hide? Would he place a bomb? Or where would he place the rifle?

There are long-range snipers for hire out there. Frank’s plans don’t sit well with the weapons lobby and these guys have the money and the attitude to pull of a contract hit, if they think it’s necessary. 

Edward had no idea how these people think or how far they’d take it, but it’s his duty to make sure that if they were to do something, he’ll be there to stop it. So he spends hour after hour going over schedules and consulting maps.

It’s almost ironic then that it all comes down to a split second in the end. 

They’re in Washington, home turf, deemed safe enough. It’s a beautiful day, the sun is out and there are kids everywhere (because they look good in the pictures, apparently). 

“Eagle cleared to move,” Edward hears over the coms. He nods at Frank who’s not looking at him but nevertheless remains completely aware of his surroundings. Or maybe just of Edward. 

There are maybe eight, ten steps between the podium and the edge of the stage, a few seconds needed to pass them, give or take. Edward does another sweep while Frank gives the audience a parting wave, glad for the sunglasses to shield his eyes – 

There. 

In the distance something reflects the sunlight. It’s on top of a building, approximately a mile away – shooting distance. 

Edward’s body has made a decision even before he has consciously ran through all the facts and indicators, before assessing that a building that far away wouldn’t have been swept regularly enough to stop a sniper from setting up shop. 

One stride and he’s level with Frank, another split second and he starts pushing Frank to the ground but then there’s a blinding pain in his left side. 

He stumbles. 

Frank regains his balance, turns and stares at him. 

Edward falls onto his knees, distantly aware of the wetness soaking his shirt. Everything seems as if it has been set to slow motion. He blinks up, meets Frank’s horrified expression. He hasn’t heard a shot but all the signs tell Edward his instincts were right. 

His last mental act is to notice how he’s once again on his knees in front of Frank before all he knows is darkness. 

*

Edward’s body hits the ground and two other agents move around Frank immediately, shielding him from any further attacks as the crowd disperses amongst screams and cries. 

He is used to his brain working at a certain speed, a staggering pace even, though now it seems frozen, sluggish, unable to process what is happening around him. 

What did Edward see? Where did the shot come from? Will he be alright?

The same questions are circling each other in his mind, blocking out all other details. He is distantly aware of being moved, brought to safety, going into lockdown. Claire is there as well, gripping his hands, her knuckles white. 

Frank only snaps out of his strange state of mind when Seth enters the Blue Room. 

“Any news?” Claire asks, standing up and following Frank’s lead. 

“No sight of the shooter, no confession of any organization yet so we have no idea who planned this; the Vice President and –“

“What about Edward?” Frank cuts in only to watch Seth splutter which probably is not a good sign. 

Frank shouldn’t care this much, even if he is aware that Claire and he have somehow accepted the man into their inner circle. But he was never meant to get this close. 

“You- you mean Agent Meechum?”

“Yes, he was shot if I’m not mistaken,” Frank drawls, pouring as much sarcasm into his tone as he can muster. “What about him?”

Seth starts paging through his documents, mumbling as he does so, “I’m not sure, I guess he’s still at the hospital –“

“Then find out,” Frank snaps, almost flinching away from Claire’s hand on his shoulder before he stops himself and leans into her touch.

“Leave the files,” is Claire’s helpful suggestion and Seth scurries off, sufficiently chastised. 

It’s not enough. Frank wants to burn the entire room down as it slowly fills with his colleagues. 

He surveys the information swiftly, forcing his thoughts to focus and by the time he is done, Seth has returned. 

“Agent Meechum is currently in the OR at George Washington Hospital. He’s in critical condition but the nurse sounded optimistic. They’re doing everything they can, sir.”

Operation room. Nothing Frank can help with – he’s the President, not a surgeon. 

So he does what he knows best: managing the crisis at hand. Within three hours Frank has organized his administration, signed off on a special investigation that will look into the shooting, given his statement and appeared in the press room to reassure the public that the is safe and that America is in no danger. 

When all is said and done he informs his new protection detail that he is going to George Washington Hospital, period. 

Claire finds him two hours later in the waiting room where he alternates between sitting and pacing. He is half-heartedly reading through some documents on his tablet whenever he can gather the focus, though with half-hourly updates from a scrub nurse he doesn’t get much done. 

“What do we know?”

Frank sighs, running a hand over his face. “The bullet didn’t cause too much damage but broke two ribs and almost punctured the heart. They’re still operating but it’s not over yet.”

Claire doesn’t try to soothe him with platitudes. Where everyone else would say ‘Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine’, Claire remains silent. It’s moments like these that Frank is inordinately grateful to have found her. 

“With all due respect, sir, you should get some rest. I’ll gladly stay here and keep tabs on the agent, but you don’t need to be here.”

Seth, who must have followed his wife, is tapping his finger against the phone in his hand, body language speaking volumes on what he thinks of the situation. Frank never lashes out. It’s something he prides himself with – having the extensive amount of self-control to only shout when it is strategically convenient. 

Shouting would be counterproductive. Turning slowly and fixing Seth with a stern glare, however, is not. 

“Mr. Grayson,” he begins, keeping his voice calm and ignoring the way Seth’s eyes widen slightly at the use of his last name. “The man who four surgeons are currently operating on has been on my protection detail for quite a considerable amount of time now. Furthermore he has taken a _bullet_ for me this afternoon. He is in there so that I don’t have to be, and you’re trying to tell me – what, exactly? That he is not worth my time? That I shouldn’t bother making sure the man who saved my life will pull through?”

Seth blanches. “I didn’t, uh, I mean – uh. Sorry, sir.”

Frank delivers Seth from further stammering with a wave of his hand. “Everything I could have done today, I did. We cancelled all of tomorrow’s meeting already, so I don’t see why you’re still here. Don’t you have a job to do?”

“I – yes, of course. Sir. Madam.” Seth nods curtly at both of them before hurrying off, completely flustered. 

They fall back into silence. They never really needed many words, Claire and he. Every thirty minutes the same nurse walks past the Secret Service agents guarding the hallway and updates them about the surgery. 

The next time she comes, after Edward has been in the OR for six hours, her brows are creased with worry. Something in Frank’s chest clenches. The nurse comes to a stop in front of them, hesitating before speaking. 

“What?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President. Mr. Meechum went into cardiac arrest ten minutes ago. The doctor’s were able to restart his heart but he was technically dead for thirty seconds… He’s stable now, though the next hour will be critical.”

“But he’s still alive?” Claire cuts in. 

“Yes, madam. He is.”

“Thank you.”

The nurse rushes off, leaving silence behind. Frank feels utterly helpless – he isn’t used to feeling helpless for he _never_ is helpless. He is the most powerful man in the world, the President of the United States, and he can’t do anything in a situation like this. 

“Stop it,” Claire snarls. “Edward got shot, yes, but that was his job. And it’s your job to keep it together now. It could have been you in that OR.”

Frank wants to argue back but when he meets Claire’s eyes the words die in his throat. She rarely allows herself to let the entire scope of her feelings show in her features, yet now they are all there – worry, relief, guilt for the latter, more worry, exhaustion. 

So instead of shouting at his wife, he pulls her into a firm hug, wrapping his arms around her. A shudder passes through her and he squeezes harder. 

“I’m here, I’m fine,” he whispers and Claire buries her face in the crook of his neck. 

That is how the nurse finds them when she returns to deliver her update. 

“Mr. Meechum’s heart stopped once more but we were able to revive him immediately. The doctors are closing up right now. He will be transferred to ICU soon.”

He feels Claire release the breath she was holding where she is still pressed against his side. 

“Can we see him then?”

The woman’s eyebrows shoot up but within a moment she has composed herself again, giving them a curt nod. “I will come and fetch you as soon as it’s possible.”

*

Edward looks incredibly young when Frank sees him again, lying on a hospital bed with tubes disappearing into his body, skin pale and hair matted. 

One of the surgeons explains everything that happened in detail at Frank’s request, telling him about the damage, the blood loss, the cardiac arrests and how, if the bullet had entered just one inch to the right, they would be standing over a body bag. Of course the surgeon does not use these exact words but Frank can picture it in vibrant clarity – him and Claire next to a gurney covered by a white sheet.

“When will he wake up?” Frank asks eventually. 

“The anesthesia will wear off soon but I doubt he’ll regain consciousness before tomorrow morning.”

“Is that your sneaky way of telling us to go home and get some sleep?” Frank asks pleasantly, somewhat impressed when the doctor is not intimidated and returns his smirk. 

“It is indeed, sir. The worst is behind him. He’s young, he’s strong. He will pull through.”

“I thought doctors weren’t supposed to make promises?”

“I didn’t use those exact words, Mr. President. I know better than to think they will soothe any worries.” 

Frank exchanges a glance with Claire and they take their leave. He falls asleep with one arm wrapped around her, her hand in his, only to wake too few hours later. 

He gives another press conference that morning, updating the vultures that call themselves reporters about the findings of the investigation as well as about Edward’s state when someone asks after “the agent who got shot”. 

Frank finishes up, attends another meeting with the Joint Chiefs and then finally, around 10.30 am, makes it back to George Washington. It takes quite some time until Frank is back in Edward’s room since the Secret Service insisted on doing a full sweep before letting him anywhere near the inside of the building. 

When he does, the first thing he learns is that Edward was transferred this morning, out of ICU and into a normal room. 

“He is breathing on his own, sir,” the same surgeon as yesterday informs him. “We were able to remove his chest tube. He should wake up within the next few hours.”

The relief his statement brings is miniscule. Frank knows he won’t stop imagining the worst until he sees Edward wake up for himself, which is irrational and overly emotional, something he, as a rule, does not do. Yet the thought of leaving, of waiting until the hospital calls Seth to tell him Edward is awake makes his stomach turn in on itself. 

Frank tells himself that waiting in Edward’s room does have a purpose other than calming his own nerves, that it proves what he claimed in this morning’s conference, namely that he is eternally grateful for the sacrifice made in his name, that Claire and he are including the man in their prayers and he hopes the nation will do the same. 

It’s all just hot air, really, but it allows Frank to feel justified for taking up residence in the visitor chair in Edward’s room. 

*

Consciousness is a fickle thing, sliding out of his grasp again and again until Edward finally catches it and holds on. 

He is disoriented as he blinks his eyes open – lying on an unfamiliar bed, wearing some strange fabric, his mind clouded in a haze of drugs, as it seems. He doesn’t hurt, though, which strikes him as odd. He feels like he should be hurting. 

His limbs are heavy, movements sluggish. It takes an immense amount of effort to just open his eyes. 

White. 

It’s he first thing he notices. A white ceiling. 

Moving his head seems like too much right now so he stares straight ahead instead, trying to remember what happened. 

It returns to him in flashes. The sliver of reflected light, pain in his side. Frank staring down at him. 

After that – nothing. 

He has no idea if the shooter only fired once, if Frank’s safe, if anyone else got hurt, how long he’s been in here, if the Secret Service managed to piece together what happened, and what is that beeping sound?

It turns out to be his heart monitor, beeping frantically as his pulse increases. He forces his heart to calm down, then for the first time looks around the room. 

His eyes land on a figure, sitting in a chair, head on one hand and for all intents and purposes softly asleep. 

It’s _Frank_. 

Frank, alive and well, and for some reason asleep in his visitor chair. Which means that Edward did his job, he succeed in protecting the President – and it didn’t even cost him his life. 

This has to be the best moment of Edward’s life. 

Frank stirs then, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing away the sleep in them. Then he looks up, maybe because he felt someone’s gaze on him. 

When he sees it’s Edward who is looking at him, Frank’s expression morphs into a brilliant smile, evening out the furrow in his brow and lighting up his eyes with a turmoil of emotions that Edward never dared imagine to see in them. 

He takes it back. _This_ is the best moment of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> … and that’s it! I hope you enjoyed it :) 
> 
> It’d be awesome if you took a second and left a comment to let me know. Thanks to all of you who’ve encouraged me between updates and to corbeaunoir for the artwork!


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